


Roadtrip II: Y'all die quick now, ya hear?

by Gladrial, HenchwenchesForHire, RisqueSno



Series: Roadtrip [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cut-off jeans, Dilapidated Shack, F/M, Fast food heaven, Fish out of Water, It's so hot!, Joker can fly planes, Normalization of an Abusive Relationship, So many guns OMG, Trapped, deep south, mother box, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladrial/pseuds/Gladrial, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenchwenchesForHire/pseuds/HenchwenchesForHire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisqueSno/pseuds/RisqueSno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The clowns find themselves in the worst place either could imagine. Joker and Harley are on another cross-country trip with double the wackiness of its predecessor!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gladrial's Notes: While writing the first Roadtrip, RisqueSno and I came up with too many ideas to fit into one story. It became quite clear that we'd simply have to write another. Seeing as the original was one of our most enjoyable pieces to write, we were super excited to get going on the next one which we think may be even funnier than the first.
> 
> RisqueSno's Notes: This story is a bit less down to earth than the first Roadtrip. A bit of unrepentant wackiness. Forgive me, darling readers, for…a bunch of these crazy jokes were mine. Like, two years or more ago. Sorry for the wait. (We got distracted by liquor and ponies.)

No riddles were left behind this time. Not a solitary clue. The item was so coveted by the man few knew as Edward Nygma that he would not risk being caught in the act, and thereby losing his prize, not even to match wits with the only man he ever deemed worthy of the task. It wasn't easy to ignore his compulsion when after something so grand (and it didn't help that he had an absolute doozy of an idea), but he told himself there would be other nights for such things.

The Riddler opted to only bring a couple of henchmen as he had no reason to expect any trouble. The security system he had already gone over in detail and was no match for him. After that it was only a matter of making the pick up and walking out the door, which is why he was very surprised to find a costumed vigilante crashing through the window and quickly taking out his few hired hands, all the while angrily yelling much louder than he thought necessary.

It wasn't one of the Gotham regulars; that much he picked up on, but not much else before the woman was standing toe to toe with him. He looked up at the sneering face of the most intimating female he had ever had the misfortune to cross. She was at least a full head taller than him with the shoulder width to match. The word 'Amazon' did not seem quite adequate.

Unfortunately, the sight was so overwhelming that his mouth reacted before his brain had truly processed what was going on. "You must be the biggest woman on the planet," he uttered, dumbfounded.

"DID YOU JUST CALL ME FAT?" the woman bellowed, while brandishing a blunt golden rod that he was very concerned might soon be meeting with his face.

"NO!" he insisted, but she didn't seem to be buying it. Thinking quickly (a bit too quickly) he added, "I, uh, like big girls?"

He heard a mighty "YAH!" from the woman as she swung the rod toward his direction. Then everything went black.

* * *

" _Thanks for the assist Barda,"_ Barbara offered to the woman over a headset as she casually dragged the Riddler behind her to the police station by his ankle. _"We got an anonymous tip about the heist not an hour prior. Talk about cutting it close and no one was free to handle it."_

"No problem, Oracle," Big Barda responded. "I felt like hitting something anyway."

Barbara giggled slightly at the comment, wondering if a day ever went by that the woman didn't feel that way.

Some quiet groans began to emanate from the figure Barda was dragging. "I think our friend is waking up," she alerted Oracle.

" _Just to let you know, he likes to talk. Don't let him get to you,"_ Barbara warned.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to. This guy isn't going to be causing anybody anymore problems."

" _You're probably right. Let me know if you need anything. Oracle out."_

The first thing that occurred to the Riddler (other than he was being transported against his will in an uncomfortable manner) was that it had recently rained. This was not difficult to deduce as the back of his jacket, as well as his hair, was soaked from being dragged through multiple puddles that had formed where the sidewalk or asphalt wasn't quite even. "Oh, my head!" the Riddler spoke up for the first time behind her.

"Congratulations," Barda greeted him. "Few men wake up so quickly after meeting my Megarod. But then, I did go easy on you. You looked so frail."

"Thanks," he offered sarcastically, while trying to rise to his feet. The woman wouldn't allow for it though, keeping up her pace with wide strides while he comically and futilely tried to push himself up with the three limbs he had free. "Say, is there any chance you'll allow me to walk?" he asked irritably.

"No," she answered shortly. "You will be dragged. It makes me feel good. Watch out for that curb."

"What cur-OW!" he exclaimed in pain. His tormentor smiled wide. After a few moments of thought he continued, "Let me ask you a question. Why is-"

"No," she interrupted simply.

"…No, what?" he asked.

"No riddles or any of your silly word games," she elaborated. "I know you are used to matching wits with the resident Gotham heroes. I'm not one of them. I prefer to hit first and ask questions later, if at all."

"Well, aren't you a barrel of fun-Oof!" He had collided with another obstacle on the sidewalk and, what's worse, was sure he heard some pedestrians snicker when it happened. His predicament was embarrassing enough without having onlookers.

"Watch that newspaper stand," was all the sympathy his captor had to offer.

"Uh-huh. What if I told you the answer to my riddle would save lives and you are jeopardizing them by not listening? What about that?" he asked triumphantly.

"Go ahead and tell me if you want," she replied with a shrug. "I'll pass it on to the eggheads. You might as well get it through your head that I'm not interested."

"I'm _so_ glad you aren't one of the regulars," he stated genuinely, before being dropped off at his final destination – prison, wondering how things had possibly gone so wrong.

Barda gave a brief explanation to the shocked officers on duty when she entered the police station, but didn't mince words long before leaving again. "I've dropped off the package, Oracle. Unless you need anything else, I'll be heading home."

" _Thanks again, Barda. We're all good over here."_

"Feel free to…oh no." Barda started patting herself up and down, frantically checking all pockets.

" _Oh no, what?"_ Barbara asked, voice edged with concern.

"My mother box! It's not here!" Barda explained, frantic. "I was going to use it to teleport home, but it's not here!

" _What?"_ Barbara screeched. _"How could you lose that? I didn't even think that was possible!"_

"Neither did I!"

" _Retrace your steps quickly. In the wrong hands-"_

"I know! I know!" Barda exclaimed, bolting from the front of the police station backtracking the way she came.

* * *

"Mr. J, you're a genius," Harley beamed brightly as they entered onto the scene of Riddler's failed crime through a skylight, followed by some hired goons.

"I know," the Joker preened under her adoration. "Fortunately, Ozzie owed me a favor. After I found out what Eddie was up to, it was a simple matter of informing the proper authorities like the good citizen I am. No one will expect a hit on the same place twice in the same night and now we're free to take…whatever it is."

"You don't know?" Harley asked, surprised at this lack of foresight.

"Some new scientific doodad. Honestly, who cares? If Eddie wanted it, then it's valuable. Just grab whatever you see with lots of buttons," he directed.

"I like buttons," Harley chirped.

The inside of the building seemed to be made of stainless steel and shone even through the darkness. The fact that the room seemed to be pulled from the set of a cheesy science fiction movie was only amplified by panels with switches that held unknown possibilities and blinking lights that indicated god knows what, which were clearly still powered even though the main lights were off.

"Boss, there's a lot of gizmos in here. Which one ya think we're after?" one of the goons asked, scratching his head.

"Grab all of them and we'll sort it out later," he instructed. "I'm sure they're all worth something anyway." At that moment they heard a crash nearby of something that sounded delicate.

"Oops," Harley offered. "It was just so shiny. And this one has lights!" she announced triumphantly picking up another.

"Put it down before you break it too!" Joker barked.

Harley did as she was told, but quickly jumped to another object and pressed the biggest button she found on it. It shot a red laser creating a hole through both a support beam and the midsection of a henchman, who dropped the loot he had collected, along with a large portion of his intestines, before he fell to the ground himself.

"Eww!" Harley grimaced.

"HARLEY! Look what you did! He better not have broken anything when he collapsed. I should have known better than to bring you along." Joker pointed to a center point in the room. "You sit here and do nothing while we clean this place out."

"But-" Harley whimpered.

"NO BUTS!" he shouted.

Harley fell with a pout where he pointed and began to kick her feet in annoyance, while grumbling to herself about how unfairly she was being treated, when she saw something sparkle a few feet from her. She looked back to her Puddin' and saw that he was busy, so began to scoot in a sitting position slowly toward the something sparkly on the smooth floor. When she reached it, she saw it was a small metallic box with a button on one side…and she did love buttons. She bit her gloved fingernails nervously with thought before deciding to scoot across the floor over to the Joker before she did something stupid.

She reached him to find he was completely consumed with directing the henchmen in the task at hand. She tugged on the tail of his purple jacket. "Puddin' I found something."

"That's nice," he mumbled, pushing her away. "BE CAREFUL WITH THAT! God, what a bunch of apes."

She tugged on his jacket again. "It has a button," she said with yearning.

"Yeah, that's great," he dismissed her again, removing her hand from his coat.

She reached up and tugged on him once more. "I want to push it," she pleaded.

"For Christ's sake, Harl! Stop fidgeting with me! Didn't I tell you to sit over there?" he bellowed.

Harley sighed and resigned herself to the inevitable, pushing the button. Instantly, the two infamous clowns vanished.

The henchmen gaped at the sight where their boss had previously been standing and looked at the boxes they were carrying full of trinkets they didn't have a prayer of understanding, wondering which was responsible for this phenomenon.

"Da boss…da boss disintegrated…just like in that Marvin da Martian cartoon," one of them whispered in awe. This led to mass panic as each of them dropped whatever they were carrying and ran screaming from the building.

* * *

"For Christ's sake, Harl! Stop fidgeting with me! Didn't I tell you to sit over there?" He was about to physically make his point and Harley instinctively took a defensive stance, when they both noticed something amiss. Was it the gentle breeze that first triggered something was wrong? The sound it made rustling through the leaves? Perhaps it was the sudden heat or the fact they were no longer surrounded by a man-made construct.

Regardless, it took only a second before they realized they were no longer inside the building they were robbing…or any building for that matter. There was a few seconds of shocked silence as they tried to process their new surroundings, after which panic set in. This panic displayed itself with Harley screaming at an alarming pitch and running around frantically, without apparent purpose, while Joker continuously bellowed at her to shut up so he could think.

Eventually, he was mercifully given silence based on Harley's need of oxygen. Her breaths came quick and shallow as she backed against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes darted back and forth looking from some unknown danger that might be in store for them from this mysterious wilderness that now surrounded her. Joker, in the meantime, tried to piece together what had befallen them.

"This isn't anything like any hallucination I've ever had, so I'm going to rule that out," he declared, looking around. "Besides, you're here," he directed at Harley. "Why would my subconscious want that?" She was too busy being frightened to acknowledge the comment. He forcibly massaged one of his temples, trying to reach something deep in his brain. Something he was sure he had been trying to ignore. "You," he turned to face Harley, "You were saying something."

She suddenly remembered the device she still held in her hand and clenched it tighter as she cringed inwardly.

"-Something about a button," he continued. He stopped rubbing his head and glared at her with realization in his eyes. "What did you do?" he hissed.

"N-nothing," she stammered. "How could I do this?"

He glared at her even harder.

"I didn't mean to!" she blurted out. "I mean, how was I supposed to know?" She held out her hand, revealing the tiny object to him.

"You!" he pointed at her with purpose and half-lunged in her direction, but didn't seem to be sure what action to take or what he should say, which was a very rare position to find himself in. Some part of him realized that nothing he did was going to improve the situation. "YOU!" he screamed even louder than before.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked.

"Oh, you're sorry, are you? Tell me, Harley, how the _hell_ your remorse is going to help us? I mean-," he gestured grandly around him, "Where the hell are we?"

She shrugged meekly in reply while looking down at her feet. Sniffling noises signified that she was on the verge of tears.

Joker clenched extended hands at her as though he was thinking about strangling her and wondering if he'd actually get through to her by doing so. "Why? Why do you have to touch?" he asked, indicating the device still in her hand. "You can't just look; you _have_ to touch! You couldn't just provide me therapy, could you? You just _had_ to get in my pants!"

Harley suddenly perked up, having a great idea. "Maybe if I push the button again, it'll send us home!"

"AARGH!" Joker growled, snatching the object from her, having clearly not made his point. He threw it as hard as he could into woods. It landed in the darkness without a sound, muffled by years of fallen leaves and pine needles. Without another gesture, Joker turned away from her abruptly and stalked off into the woods with a scowl on his face.

"Where are you going?" Harley pleaded, unmoving.

"As far from you as possible!" he returned sharply, his voice beginning to fade away as he ventured further off.

Harley made it a habit to follow wherever the Joker led. More than a habit, it was her life's purpose. Even so, she remained where she was momentarily, considering his words. She wasn't quite sure she could get 'as far from herself as possible', but eventually she made the attempt, jogging to catch up to him.

* * *

They had been walking in silence for some time. It didn't take long for Harley to reach him. Joker hadn't been in any particular hurry, probably because he didn't know where he was trying to get to. This issue was chief on Harley's mind. He had tolerated the return of her presence so far, but she had been too afraid to attempt any kind of conversation. Unfortunately, night was coming and she wasn't looking forward to being stuck in the dark in this unfamiliar environment without a plan.

Harley cleared her throat experimentally, gauging his response. If he heard her, he didn't take any note of it, which was enough reason for her to attempt a question.

"So…what's the game plan, Puddin'?" she asked, trying to sound more chipper than she felt.

"Right now, the plan is walking in this direction," he pointed ahead, "And apparently sweating to death." He stopped long enough to rip off his purple jacket dramatically and threw it at Harley. "Make yourself useful," he said as she felt the cloth meet her face. She folded that jacket neatly, draping it over her arm.

Harley agreed about the ungodly temperature. She had already pulled off her head piece and it hung down her back. Grease paint was dripping down her face and she desperately wished she was wearing something that breathed, rather than spandex.

"Hopefully we'll run into something. Unless you have a better idea." he scoffed, pointedly. "We should find some sign of civilization eventually. There's only so much wilderness left in the world today." Harley noted that he was enjoying the sound of his voice, as he continued talking, which suited her fine. She hated when he was angry and quiet. It seemed unnatural and felt like the calm before some terrible storm. "That's if we're not somewhere else entirely," he added eerily.

"What do you mean?" Harley asked nervously.

"Well, we really don't know what that device you were messing with did. What if we're off planet?" he suggested.

Harley looked around. She didn't know where she was, certainly, but nothing around her looked alien. The ground, the sky, the trees all looked familiar. Even the few animals they've seen weren't anything out of the ordinary. "There's a squirrel," she pointed out, in an attempt to vocalize this point.

"Could be an alien squirrel," he offered. "Or perhaps we've traveled through time. Stuff like that happens every day. Trust me."

Harley was under the distinct impression he was trying to scare her, so she did her best to play along as they kept walking and the sky kept getting darker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladrial's End Notes: For those of you that are not addicted to DC like I am, you might be wondering, "Who's Big Barda?" or "What the hell is a mother box?" Please don't worry about it beyond the fact that a mother box has teleportation capabilities. I promise that's all you need to know.
> 
> On the flipside, for those of you who are addicted to DC as much as I am, you might be saying, "A mother box doesn't work like that!" While the information on them you can find is rather limited and vague, I'm inclined to agree, but this is what needs to be in order for our story to work. I theorize that it's broken…or something. Let's all agree not to obsess about it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hot. 'Hot' wasn't a hot enough word for how hot it was, but honestly it was too hot to think of proper synonym. It wasn't anything to worry about though. Days like these were all too common and Earl had years of experience to tell him exactly the best course of action. That's why he parked himself in the rocking chair beside Billy, in front of his family-owned all purpose store, and did not intend to get up unless the rare customer stopped by.

"Ya could help me tidy up the store, Earl," his wife, Margie, complained. She took an irritated stance with her hands on her hips that both he and his life-long friend, Billy, were familiar with. He grunted indistinctly in a way that didn't commit him to action or inaction, but his wife knew precisely what that meant. She simultaneously turned away from him in disgust, while waving him away with both hands, and returned to her duties in the store.

Neither of them meant anything by it. After thirty years of marriage, living in the same small town, and running the same store that had been in his family for generations the two had a comfortable pattern of behavior that they almost enjoyed cycling through, had they not become so accustomed to it to even notice.

His relationship was just as familiar with Billy. "Hot," he grunted simply to his friend, while they stared at the steady yellow blinking of the lone streetlight dangling across the road.

"Yup," Billy, a man of few words, replied with a slow southern drawl.

"Too hot fo' any young'uns 'bout," Earl continued, noting that there weren't any children along the one paved road that ran through town.

"P'haps at the water'n hole," Billy offered.

Earl laughed, feeling that they'd be just as wet in the nearby pond as without with the humidity. "Sun's been cookin' up that water. Just as bad in as out, I reckon."

This was a typical southern day in the miniscule town. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Big news was when a new baby was born, or someone passed away, along with the local gossip that most probably wouldn't find juicy enough, but it suited them fine. That's why two colorful characters, clearly out of place, stumbling in from out of the wood line was particularly interesting.

* * *

They had been walking all night. Harley would have been up for a break to sleep in the middle of the night, but she got the feeling that if she asked for one and it was granted, she would have woken up alone. She was hungry. She was tired. And _God_ was she hot!

It looked as though the all-nighter might have proved fruitful though, as they finally found signs of civilization. Through the trees, they could see up ahead a clearing with a road and a handful of small buildings. They quickened their pace.

Joker made a bee-line for a building that clearly housed a barber, uncaring about revealing his notorious face in the middle of day. He had his eyes on a newspaper vending machine. He fished around his pants pocket for some change, purchased the paper, and examined the cover. Harley peered over his shoulder and looked at the date on the paper. "Good news, Puddin'," she chimed in cheerfully. "No time travel. But where are we?"

"…Alabama?" he answered in whisper of disbelief. "Alabama!" he repeated, finding his voice. "I'm in Podunk, backwards Alabama!" Clearly unhappy at this prospect, he rolled the paper up and started beating Harley about the head with it, until he decided that wasn't harsh enough and grabbed her about the neck.

* * *

Both Earl and Billy sat up straighter as the two odd strangers made their way onto the street.

"Now what ya s'pose all this is 'bout?" Earl asked.

"Circus in town?" Billy suggested.

Earl looked sideways at him. "Now, ya'll know as well as I do that no circus ain't never made its way into our out-the-way town."

"Lost circus?" Billy tried again.

"…P'haps." Earl found that doubtful, they were so out of the way from any major road, but he couldn't think of any other likely explanation. "Margie!" he called inside. "Ya come check this out here!"

"What's all the ruckus?" Margie asked irritably, until she eyed the two strangers buying a paper. "What in God's green earth is all this 'bout?"

"Lost circus," Billy answered, with more certainty than before.

Margie squinted at the strangers and realization showed upon her face. "That ain't no circus clowns! Don't y'all ever watch TV?"

"You and your crime shows," Earl scoffed.

"They're documentaries," she corrected him with pride. "And those two are those serial killers what come from Gotham."

Earl and Billy laughed. "Why the hell would any killers from Gotham want to come here, Margie? S'pose you can answer me that," Earl challenged.

"I'm sure I don't know, Earl," she replied haughtily. "But they be them."

As if on cue, they saw the male clown suddenly attack the female one.

"Well, that ain't polite," Earl said with distaste in his mouth.

"Ain't polite 't'all," Billy agreed.

Earl went inside the shop and reemerged with a shot gun. "You go on inside now, Margie. Billy an' me'll take care of this."

"Be careful now, Earl," Margie warned before doing as he said, still watching anxiously from behind the screen door.

Earl loaded his gun. "What's worse 'n a serial killer?" he asked Billy.

"A yankee serial killer," Billy answered confidentially.

"Yup," Earl confirmed, snapping the barrel of his gun shut.

* * *

Joker had decided that he didn't have to compromise and was strangling Harley with one hand while striking her with the rolled up paper in the other, when he became suddenly aware of the barrel of a gun pointing at his face.

"That's no way t' treat a lady," Earl warned.

"Trust me, this is no lady," Joker promised. "Look at this, Harl." He craned her head around so she could get a better view, seeing as he still had a hand around her neck. "Do you see how stereotypical they are? It'd be funny if it weren't so sad."

"We don't take kindly to guests that be insultin'," Earl responded to the snide comments.

"Fortunately for you we have no intention of sticking around," Joker replied.

"That's fine. We don't want no trouble. But," Earl continued, "We be expectin' you to set the girl free."

Joker sighed in mock defeat. "Very well, if you insist."

He released his hold on Harley who, in turn, quickly kicked Earl under the chin, throwing him backward. A shot blasted out of his gun in the air and, by the time he had composed himself, he found that he was now the one held at gunpoint by the Joker. Earl surrendered his shotgun to the 'damsel in distress'.

Joker pointed the gun at his assailant and seemed to be considering his options, before saying with disgust, "You're not even worth the bullet." Then he and Harley disappeared back into the woods.

When he felt they were truly gone and that they were safe, Earl commented with annoyance, "Well, that's gratitude for ya, eh Billy?"

"Yup." Billy had to agree, that was no lady after all.

* * *

Joker was glad he didn't use a bullet on the rednecks they had just encountered, because he didn't know what they were going to run into next. And, honestly, it would have been a waste anyway. It's not like he was going to get any attention for it, stuck in the middle of nowhere. He had meant for it to look as though they were heading back into the wilderness by returning to the woodline, but now that he had caught sight of civilization, he wasn't about to let it go. They stayed hidden within the trees which were thick with life despite the heat due to the humidity but kept the road in view, following it to wherever its destination may be.

"Mistah J, I'm so hot!" Harley complained.

She had to be, Joker reflected, because he certainly was. His shirt was practically glued to his skin with sweat…and he wasn't covered from head to toe in spandex. It wasn't even mid-day yet and conditions were only going to get worse. "I hope you're learning a valuable lesson from this, Harley," he chided.

"I promise to never touch another doohickey ever again!" she vowed.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he sneered, before switching tactics. "It's unfortunate that I have to suffer through your mistakes alongside you," he said, putting on a sad voice. "But then, they say the people you hurt the most are the ones you care about."

Harley stopped mid-step as she realized her own selfishness. Here she had been complaining about something that was completely of her own doing. When was she ever going to stop screwing up?

"Oh, Puddin!" she pleaded. "What can I do to make this up to you? I'll do anything."

"That's nice," he sighed. "But I don't see anything you can do." He watched her look around desperately as though she were hoping a portable fan was going to conveniently pop up on the next bush for her to give to him. Oh, he planned to milk this one for awhile and felt he could successfully do so.

Just then, a small building sitting alone came into view. They made their way to it and, upon viewing the establishment's sign, saw that it was a diner. Neither of them had eaten since they teleported and Harley, eager to please, was already on the move.

"You stay right here, Puddin', while I get you some food and a nice cold drink." She was bouncing off before he could even respond.

* * *

Harley entered the small 'mom and pop' style restaurant, knowing she was going to be given funny looks. These people weren't used to strangers, much less strangers in skin tight clothes with massive amounts of makeup dripping down her face. Before she walked in, she had made up her mind to ignore any such looks or comments.

The first thing she noticed, aside from the clean albeit worn exterior, was that she wasn't being waited on in an attempt by the staff to encourage her to leave. Harley sat herself in a booth and spoke up. "Got any menus in this joint," she asked in her thick accent far removed from the accents of those surrounding her.

"Sure thing, honey," a large, middle-aged waitress offered, laying her mock sweetness on as thick as she could. "Be with ya in half a second," she added, after handing a menu to the odd stranger. Harley noted that she then veered off into the kitchen to gab about 'the freak in the booth' to the cooking staff. She reminded herself that she expected as much and shouldn't make waves, then glanced over the menu, realizing half of it was unrecognizable.

"Whatcha like, honey?" the waitress asked her, after returning a full five minutes later.

"I'm not sure," Harley admitted. "What's a…grit?"

"Oh, you Yanks," the waitress declared, with an edge of insult. "They're good with butter 'n salt. Some folks puts on sugar, but I think that's just crazy."

Harley thought she'd be more particular with her use of the word 'crazy' if she knew who was in front of her. She also thought she wouldn't want to eat something that could be good with salt _or_ sugar. That was just beyond peculiar.

"Okay. What's fatback?" Harley inquired.

After hearing the description, Harley promptly dropped the menu and made her way out of the establishment as quickly as she could. Perhaps there were instances when the word 'crazy' could be used when describing food.

"How could you come back empty handed?" Joker demanded, upon her return to the woods.

"We can't eat the food they serve there," Harley stated matter-of-factly. "No one in their right mind would. You'll have to trust me on this. The things these people will eat…UGH!"

It was the genuine look of her trying not to vomit that convinced him she must be right.

* * *

The sweltering heat only got worse as the day wore on and, with them not getting sleep the night before, it only helped to intensify their exhaustion. Stopping for a rest wasn't an option though, knowing that they wanted to be stuck in the wilderness for as little time as possible. It was the hunger, and even more so, the thirst that was really getting to them though. The Joker could go many sleepless nights in a row before it had any affect on him, but without food? He didn't think so.

That was one of the chief reasons they were glad to see the little unkempt, paved road they'd been keeping in sight of develop into one with fewer and fewer pot holes as they went. They were even happier when they eventually saw painted lines along the center of it and more than one car an hour using it. They were absolutely ecstatic when, as the sun started its descent, they saw a green sign that indicated a gas station ahead and, mercifully, a very familiar pair of golden arches.

"McDonald's," Harley sighed blissfully, as though it were the most beautiful place in the world. Despite their weariness, they both picked up their pace.

When the wood line started clearing, Harley offered to fetch them both some food. "If you think that I'm going to let you enjoy a nice, air-conditioned building, while I sit out here, you're crazier than they think," he replied.

"Now, Mr. J," she softly scolded him.

"It's not like you're inconspicuous at the moment either," he pointed out, irritably.

"Puddin', it's different. Few people are going to suspect I'm actually who I appear to be so far from home, but there's no mistaking you. After all, between the two of us, who's more notorious?" she flattered.

"Yeah, I know," he grimaced, before plopping down on the ground glumly and watching Harley leave the trees for a tiny piece of concrete heaven. "We're finding a hotel or something tonight!" he shouted after her, "Because I can't take much more of this!"

Harley couldn't make out what he was shouting, as she found herself almost magnetically drawn to the franchise sign's familiar neon glow she was so comfortable with. People often complained about how much you missed by living in a city, but Harley had quite decided she wasn't missing out on anything.

She knew how pathetic she looked entering the establishment. At this point, the little makeup she had left was streaked unflattering down her face and caked in the places it had built up. She had to be beginning to put out an unpleasant odor by now as well. However, when she opened the door to the establishment and was met with cool, dry air, she found that she didn't care about how she looked at all.

The restaurant was fairly dispersed with customers, all of whom regarded her warily, but no one made any dramatic moves whether it be trying to help her out of whatever predicament she was clearly in or running for the door. Everyone took the same tactic of not making eye contact, continuing with their meal, and asking their children not to point.

"Umm, are you okay, miss?" the teenage girl behind the register asked with a southern accent that wasn't quite as strong as Harley had heard from others on their venture.

"Oh, sure, sure, I am now," she chirped happily though clearly exhausted. "I'm here from a traveling circus or some sort of convention or whatever you'd find most plausible, kay? And I'm _famished_."

"…Okay?" the teenager answered, confused. "Can I take your order?"

After making her selections, which were numerous, Harley went to the bathroom to clean up as best she could. Her headpiece had been hanging around her neck for some time and, when she looked in the mirror, saw that it looked as though her hair hadn't been washed in a week. She sighed in resignation and used a stack of paper towels to scrub make-up off her face. She gathered that there was a mother and her child in one of the adjacent stalls, but paid their presence little mind until she heard an argument break out between the two.

"Don't dig through Momma's purse, Austin," the woman tutted gently. Austin giggled in response. "Austin, give Momma back her cell phone," she scolded more forcefully.

"No!" the toddler protested and scrambled under the stall door.

"Austin!" his mother screamed. "You get back here!"

Harley knew a good opportunity when she saw one and followed the toddler as he made his way out of the bathroom. He unsurprisingly headed for the playplace associated with every McDonald's restaurant.

"Hey Austin," Harley cooed. Austin froze and regarded the stranger with a tilt of his head. "Give Auntie Harley the phone, okay?" she asked sweetly.

"Mine!" the toddler declared vehemently and quickly entered the colorful tubing leading into the playground's maze.

"Hey, kid!" Harley called after him and followed him into the tubing. She moved as quickly as she could, but it wasn't made for adults and Austin had the distinct advantage. She tried to follow the sounds of his laughter, indicating that he thought this was a rather funny game, but the echoes made him difficult to locate. Once she realized he was behind her, but found it impossible to turn around in the tight space.

"Just wait 'til I get my hands on you, kid!" she shouted in frustration.

Austin laughed all the louder.

* * *

Joker had twiddled his thumbs for what he swore was hours waiting for Harley to return. He finally decided that he was going to eat and eat _right now_ and made his way to the restaurant.

He burst bombastically through the doors of the establishment shouting, "HARLEY! It's called _fast_ food! Not 'let's see how long we can make me wait' food!"

The customers that had tried to tolerate Harley seemed less inclined to do so with him and, as was usual upon his entrances, they started hiding under tables and dashing for the exit as he approached the register. The teenager behind the counter who had taken Harley's order pointed toward the playplace when eye contact was made between her and the Joker.

"Of course," he growled, stalking to the playground and announcing himself. "Harley, now is not the time to play, but if you insist we can enjoy the game 'beat you senseless'." He turned to a woman cringing against the wall. "It's one of my favorites," he informed her with a wide smile.

"I'm not playing, Mr. J," Harley insisted.

"If I have to come in there after you, Harl, words will not describe how unhappy I'll be," he pressed.

"Get over here, kid!" Harley screeched.

The woman against the wall suddenly dropped to her knees and gasped, "Is she going to hurt my baby?"

"Who knows?" Joker shrugged, dismissively. "She's a loon. She could do anything."

"Gotcha!" Harley shouted triumphantly, followed by Austin's squealing.

"Please!" the woman begged. "Please don't let her hurt him. He's a good boy."

Harley emerged down a slide with the child in hand. "He's a brat, is what he is!" Harley protested. "Now give me the phone!" Unfortunately, Austin no longer had it on him and pointed at the ball pit. "How am I ever going to find it in there?" Harley groaned and then started shaking him violently while spouting out "I hate you"s with many expletives thrown in. Austin's intense laughter indicated that he thought this was yet another diverting game.

"Cute kid," Joker commented to his mother who was now crying, at which point they heard a very familiar sound: sirens. "Time to go, Harl."

Harley dropped the kid and they both quickly dashed back into the dining area, quickly pausing to grab a large bag of food she had ordered. "I was going to pay," Harley admitted to those behind the register. "But, y'know, little point now."

As several police cars circled the McDonald's, they yet again disappeared back into the woods from whence they came.

"Nooo!" Harley squirmed and turned back to face the restaurant.

"What now?" Joker sighed.

"I meant to go to the bathroom while I had the chance," she whined.

Joker laughed genuinely at that. He laughed a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladrial End Notes: Now that their location is revealed, it is important to note that this fic will be simply rife with southern stereotypes as it is comical. We are allowed to do this because we're both from the south. Don't be hatin'.
> 
> RisqueSno's End Notes: I also really wanted to show that there are people without thick accents. And that there are cell phones. And indoor plumbing!


	3. Chapter 3

The biggest issue with the police becoming aware of their presence was not fear of some sort of chase ensuing. They weren't going to be easy to locate in the middle of nowhere after all and the likelihood that stories of two of the most notorious criminals deciding to make this their vacation spot was hardly believable anyway.

No, the real issue was being chased farther away from the glimpse of civilization they hadn't even had the time to enjoy. This put them in a particularly dark mood despite having recently appeased their stomachs with something edible.

They were now surrounded by trees and darkness, but still had a pretty good idea where the road was. The prolific undergrowth made traveling difficult, especially with their limited visibility. It also did a good job of covering whatever just made a clanging noise when Harley ran into it.

"Clang?" the Joker commented curiously. "Nothing in nature goes clang," he continued most assuredly.

Harley bounced around grasping her foot tightly. "I stubbed my toe," she yelped.

"Yes, but on what?" he asked, redirecting her to what was more important. Joker ripped away some vines to find an extremely rusted car bumper. On closer inspection, he found that the bumper was attached to an entire car in even worse condition. Looking around, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the area was actually littered with broken down cars, some intact, others picked apart. None of vehicles were of any hope of getting them anywhere, but they might have been a sign of someone living in the area.

"At the ready, Harl," he directed and she instinctively dropped her foot and readied the shotgun they had collected earlier.

Amongst the junk garden, they found a home. Home was actually too complimentary a word. 'Shack' suited it much better. The wood was rotting and the walls leaned in or out in a few places. The entire structure seemed to be slowly becoming reclaimed by the nature surrounding it, with vines and tree saplings sprouting from between decaying wood planks.

Still, the place was abandoned and they weren't going to have any luck continuing to wander aimlessly through the darkness. Without discussion,they both know it was where they would be spending the night.

They didn't bother searching the shack as it had no common amenities such as electricity and was mostly impossible to make out with the overgrowth of trees blocking any source of natural light. They stumbled around inside, dealing with a musky odor, before finding a metal framed bed with a worn mattress. It was only a single-sized mattress, but they both were too exhausted to argue about arrangements and made the most of it, collapsing onto the frame that threatened to give way.

* * *

Tweeting. Loud tweeting. Loud, incessant tweeting. They were accustomed to waking up to a wide variety of irritating noises; car alarms, gun shots, and late-night drunken shouting matches they were used to. But this warbling wasn't something their brains were accustomed to ignoring and, with the sun shining through the cracks in the wooden walls, returning to sleep was impossible.

"What are they having an orgy out there?" Joker demanded, after giving up on being able to block out the noise.

The sudden yell made the forest go silent briefly. Very briefly.

"There's gotta be a million of 'em," Harley moaned. "I don't see what Ozzie thinks are so great about 'em."

The Joker angrily tore out of bed and grabbed the shotgun before heading out the door. Harley sighed and resigned to the inevitable, deciding the first thing she needed to do is see if there was any place to bathe.

She searched the small shack briefly, hearing an occasional gunshot go off randomly, at which time the tweeting would silence momentarily only to restart again a second later. She didn't bother telling him they didn't have much ammo and that he should be conserving it, knowing it would be of little importance to him at the moment.

She found the shack only had two rooms: the bedroom they had slept in and a kitchen/sittingroom. No bathroom. No running water. She could have screamed, for what little good it would have done her, but only sighed deeply again before making her exit.

Outside, she found a water pump and, with a bar of lye soap she found on the kitchen sink, made the best of it. The water was freezing, but then was rather refreshing with the pressing heat. As she finished washing her hair, she saw Joker throwing down his gun in frustration and shouting at her about running out of rounds.

"Here," she offered him the soap with a soft tone. "It will make you feel better and I'll find you something to eat in the meantime."

He begrudgingly took the soap from her as she reentered the shack. Before food though, she decided that it was imperative for her to find something to wear. Anything but spandex! She wasn't expecting much, but upon opening a wardrobe found a most wondrous sight. Guns. Firearms. Ammunition. Any kind and every kind were spread out before her. Apparently whoever had lived there didn't need electricity or plumbing, but did need to kill anything that moved.

She knew the sight would make her Puddin' happy, but got back to the task of finding clothes first. To her surprise after rummaging through some drawers in the bedroom, she managed to find a pair of jeans that she quickly converted into cut-off shorts that more or less fit and a plaid shirt that she had tied above her midriff, feeling she was completing the look, before putting her wet hair back into pig tails.

"Puddin'!" she sang as he stalked back toward the shack. "I have to show you something."

"Why must you look ridiculous _every_ time we're out of town?" he chided when seeing her change of clothes.

"Come see!" she continued undaunted, pulling him back inside by the arm and guiding him toward the wardrobe. She opened it with flourish before presenting it to him with a Vanna White flair.

"Y'know," he commented after the awe had set in. "I think I may be beginning to understand these people."

Harley giggled and skipped into the kitchen, searching for anything edible, while he took inventory of his new toys. Unfortunately, the cupboards were pretty bare and what little she did find seemed to have been invaded by the wildlife.

She was about to give up when she came across a curious jar. It was very large and full of a sickly green liquid. Harley wasn't about to eat anything that was in it, but couldn't help but be curious about its contents. She lifted the dusty jar from its place in the cupboard and sat it on the counter before peering inside. Then she let out a high, ear-piercing scream.

Joker immediately dropped the weapon he was holding upon hearing her and it blasted a hole in the roof when it hit the ground, nearly missing him. "What?" he demanded, looking ready to aim the next shot at her after having such a close call, but she took no notice. Instead, she ran to him, climbing immediately into his arms with fright.

His anger quickly subsided, mostly because he found the idea of anyone running to him for protection rather funny. "What's the matter, honey bun?" he prodded.

She simply pointed at the innocuous jar, refusing to look at it.

"Well, let's just see what all the fuss is about," he decided, stepping toward the jar with Harley cradled in his arms. She whimpered as they neared it.

He leaned closer and examined the inside. "…Pig's feet," he commented curiously.

"Pigs feet!" Harley yelped. "In a jar! Who does that!"

"Honestly, Harley, there's been weirder things in our fridge," he reminded her.

"But why a pig?" she insisted.

"I don't know," he returned. "Maybe that's how whoever lived here got off."

He put Harley down to more closely examine the jar. After all, one doesn't see a jar full of pigs' feet every day. She huddled safely behind him as he placed his hands around the jar, intending to pick it up, when he felt a label. He turned the jar and read the insignia.

"Oh! I've heard of this," he declared in revelation. "Pickled pigs' feet."

"Ya…Ya mean…people eat that!" Harley gasped.

"You've already warned me that their diet down here is strange, Harl," he returned.

"I feel sick," she admitted, looking ready to vomit.

The Joker opened the jar and a fermented smell accompanied the lid. He dipped his fingers in the liquid and emerged proudly with a dripping pig foot, causing Harley to quickly back away from him. He sniffed it experimentally before placing it in his mouth.

That was all Harley could take and she bolted out the door to empty the contents of her stomach outside. "It's not half bad," she heard him calling to her.

* * *

They started out that morning, carrying as many of the firearms they could and unsure of where they were going, aside from avoiding the area surrounding the McDonald's they visited the night before, feeling that they police may be too acclimatized to them there.

The heat sweltered as the sun rose in the sky, while they passed fields and long unused plantation homes. They hopped fences and navigated small woods as evening returned. Joker had long been complaining about the weight of the weapons they were lugging and, more importantly, the lack of people to use them on, as they stumbled across a clearing.

Their reactions to this clearing were vastly different. Joker responded by falling over with manic laughter while Harley preferred to cry in disbelief.

"How?" she exclaimed in-between tears. "It's not possible!"

But it was possible. Somehow they had managed to circle back to the very same shack they had found the night before. Night was quickly falling and they had little choice but to bunk there again.

* * *

They were awoken by the sounds of birds for the second day in a row. However, on this particular day Joker seemed to accept it as an inevitably and got ready to face the morning, while Harley rolled around in the bed complaining of a pressing migraine.

"Want me to go shoot at them again?" Joker offered, more because he enjoyed opening fire at just about anything, rather than helping her out.

"So I can hear a gunshots _and_ tweeting? No, thank you," she concluded glumly.

"It's not the birds anyway," he continued. "You haven't eaten anything in nearly forty-eight hours. You know how you get."

Harley was rubbing the focal point of her pain, hoping to massage it out. "I know," she agreed, "But there's no food here, remember?"

"That's not entirely true," he hinted gleefully, revealing the large jar of pickled pig's feet he had hidden behind his back.

"NO!" Harley insisted immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth.

What followed next was a destructive chase in which Harley attempted to use what could laughingly be referred to as 'furnishings' in between herself and the Joker as he tore after her, jar in hand. Her ultimate goal was to break free of the shack, but he knew what she was aiming for and kept a close guard on the door as he tried to herd her into a corner.

He tried different tactics while chasing her about the shack: angrily yelling at her for her disobedience, adopting a doting tone and claiming it was for her own good, threatening to rip out her lungs, the usual stuff. However, as her repeated attempts for the door failed, she seemed only less inclined to acquiesce. She was, unfortunately, too quick and agile for him to honestly hope to physically force his will if she really was so damned determined to disregard his wishes, an extraordinarily rare occurrence that put them both in an weird place. Situations like this were so few and far between, that they never really got the knack for how to deal with them.

As he made another attempt, Harley finally panicked enough to give him a flying kick to the head, jumped over him, and made her way out the door. She dashed across the open field until she hit the wood line, when reality began to take hold again and she paused, unsure of herself.

"Where're you going to go, Harley?" Joker darkly voiced what she was thinking.

She meekly turned around and found him sitting patiently on the wooden steps that lead up to the shack's entrance. She followed suite and slowly sat down in the grass on the edge of the field, hugging her knees to her chest.

They waited that way for a while before Harley, having calmed down, apologized for kicking him. "It was just an impulse," she tried to explain timidly, which was difficult as she had to shout due to the distance between them

"I know," he shouted back genuinely. Lord knows, he'd seen her pissed off enough times to know she was telling the truth. When she had let loose on him, her expression was not one of anger, but frantic. That didn't mean he was any less angry about it, but he knew expressing such was only going to make things more difficult at present. "Now, why don't you come on back here and we can forget the whole thing."

She glared at him, knowingly. "You still have the jar," she answered, undaunted.

"Fine, fine!" He threw up his hands. "I was just trying to help." He picked up the jar, rose to his feet and placed it a good distance from where he'd been sitting before returning to the spot. "There, is that better?"

Harley slowly started inching her way back to him, stopping occasionally and skeptically staring at the jar, as though it were going to pounce on her, before starting toward him again. Joker patiently waited for this silliness to pass.

Once she finally reached him, she started begging for forgiveness in a manner they were both familiar with, putting things right with the world once more. He stroked her hair and told her it was all right and promised he wasn't angry. "But," he added, "We can't have anymore of such nonsense, now can we?"

She agreed vehemently.

"You promise?" he pried.

She nodded fervently, grateful for his understanding.

"Good," he finished, grabbing her forcibly by both wrists and dragging her toward the jar. She was good to her word and didn't put up as much a fight as she could have, but that didn't stop her from making it more difficult than it had to be as she pulled against him and pleaded. Once at the jar, he managed to force her to the ground, straddling her body as she squirmed beneath him.

"You and I both know the pain is only going to get worse and you are no good to me incapacitated," he explained, still unsure how he was actually going to force her to eat.

This did little good as Harley clamped her mouth shut, looking as determined as possible.

"Have it your way then," he growled, placing a hand around her neck and starting to squeeze. She held out as long as she could, but eventually reflex took over and her mouth opened wide in search of desperately needed oxygen. At that moment, he forced one of the pig's feet in her mouth. "Eat it!" he demanded, letting go of her throat.

At first, she seemed as though she were still going to put up a fight, but as he went for her throat once more, she realized she either had the choice of eating it or choking on it. Tearfully, she bit down. An overwhelming taste of vinegar was the first thing she noticed, but what she hated most was the consistency, chewing through collagen and grit.

"There's a good girl," he cooed. He forced her to eat two before getting off her. "Was that really worth all that fuss?" he chided. "You feel better already, don't you? One day, you're going to look back on this and laugh. Hell, I already am.

She nodded, solemnly, and regained her composure. "So, what's the plan now, boss?

"Now?" Joker returned. "Now, it's time for Plan B."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladrial's Notes: I get the worst hunger headaches and, when it occurred to me how long Harley had gone without food, I stuck this in there. If you have not experienced this, you might think it silly, but trust me, if I go too long without food I'm no good to anybody. And I feel better almost immediately after taking a few a bites.
> 
> RisqueSno's Notes: I desperately tried to convince Gladrial to eat a pickled pig's foot, so she would know how it tasted. Ostensibly, this was so she could write with first-hand experience…but really, I just had no intention of doing it myself and wanted to laugh at her having to. Predictably, she got out of it by just looking up taste reviews online. Grrr.


	4. Chapter 4

If Batman had been paying attention to his sidekick rather than focusing on the latest version of Scarecrow's fear toxin, he would have noticed a peculiar look that had spread across Tim's face. "Have you seen this?" Tim asked, breaking the silence of the cave. "It's weird."

Batman turned from the task at hand and peered at the glowing computer screen Tim indicated. He had to admit, what he was looking at was rather odd.

"Joker sightings in Alabama?" Tim continued. "It doesn't make sense."

"Copycats," Batman answered simply, after perusing the article, silently noting that those wishing to emulate the maniac in some fashion seemed to be growing.

"…In Alabama?" Tim asked, skeptically.

"You'd think it more likely that _they_ were actually there?" Batman challenged.

Tim had to admit, he had him there. Still, something about it kept nagging at him. "But look at this," he pressed. "Apparently, they threatened a child. Even most copycats tend to leave children alone. And someone in a small town claims to have seen this 'Joker' beating on this 'Harley' before they had him at gun point."

"And he's still alive," Batman pointed out.

Tim let out a large sigh and crossed his arms. "We're not even going to look into this, are we?"

"We have more pressing matters," Batman reminded him, pointing to his work on an inoculation for Scarecrow's newest creation. "And both the Joker and Harley were spotted not three days ago, here, in Gotham."

He had more points he could have made, like what possible purpose they'd have to be down south, but he chose not to press the point any further than he had to. Besides, much as he hated it, Batman knew the Joker just about as well as anyone could know him. There's no way he'd ever want to be in Alabama.

* * *

"I don't want to be here," Joker began, explaining plan B. "You don't want to be here. I don't think the people that live here want to be here. Here is just about the most insufferable place I've ever been."

"Preachin' to the choir, Puddin'," Harley chimed in.

"So, in order to save what's left of our sanity, I'm proposing something rather drastic," he admitted. "We're going to head that way." He pointed to the trail they had blazed previously from the McDonald's. "And if there are any cops still circulating the area, we're just going to turn ourselves in."

"…You're serious," Harley responded after a pause, in shock of such sensibility coming from him.

"I don't like it any more than you, but they'll send us home. They have to with all that jurisdiction nonsense. And, let's face it," he concluded, rising from his seat on the porch, "Arkham is breeze to walk out of compared to this hellhole."

"I love plan B!" Harley cried big happy tears. "I just wanna go home!"

"Besides," he added, brightening up, "These trigger-happy hicks will be simply furious at the fact that they can't lay a hand on us, as we are being _so_ cooperative and all."

* * *

It was no doubt one of the most peculiar happenings in the small town in recent memory, the sheriff considered while sitting in his police car in the McDonald's parking lot. In fact, the only thing that came to mind was that two-headed cow that was born over at the Gruber's place and he didn't really think that counted.

One of his deputies pulled his car up next to him and they enjoyed a cup of coffee together. It's not as though they really thought the rumors were true, despite the number of eye witnesses, and it had been nearly two days without any similar incidents. Still, their presence made people more comfortable and it wasn't as though they had anything better to do.

"What if it they _were_ the real deal?" the deputy asked, interrupting his reflection.

The sheriff rolled his eyes in response. It was understandable, he supposed, that the young folk of the town were desperate for anything to stir up the status quo. He remembered being quite antsy himself at that age.

"I know it's not," the young man returned, slightly embarrassed. "I was just wonderin' what ya'd do."

The sheriff paused in thought before answering, "Well, I ain't met anyone yet that a bullet can't stop. Them's the problem with liberals. I mean, would you let anyone 'round here get away with half the crap that maniac's done? Blowin' up hospitals and slaughterin' folk left and right?"

"No sir!" answered the deputy, dutifully.

"'Zactly," the sheriff nodded. "After while, it seems pretty obvious t' me what the answer is." He patted the gun on his belt, driving the point home. "…Do they even have the death penalty up there?"

The deputy shrugged.

"Wouldn't matter anyhow," he continued. "Let 'im slide on the 'insanity' defense, I reckon. What a crock of shit." He took another sip of coffee.

The conversation over, the sheriff was wondering how many days he should keep up this mockery of a stake out before it became silly when he noticed a petite woman with blonde pigtails emerge from the forest.

* * *

"It's the cops!" Harley exclaimed happily as they neared the familiar fast food restaurant. "We can go home now!" Without so much as a word of how they were going to go about this, Harley exploded from the tree line, making a beeline for the police cars.

Joker didn't have any time to respond or to pull her back from such a hasty reaction. He shrugged it off and decided to watch behind in safety to see how things progressed.

"Can we help ya, miss?" the sheriff asked politely as the woman before him panted, smiling with relief.

"Oh yes! Yes, please!" Harley blurted out. "We just want to go home. No tricks. Promise." She crossed her heart for good measure.

The sheriff blinked back at her in confusion and looked at his deputy in hopes he'd interpreted any better, but he simply shrugged back.

"Calm down," the sheriff began. "It's clear ya aren't from 'round these parts. Hell, I know ev'ryone here!" The deputy nodded in agreement. "And then there's that accent of yours… Just where's this 'home' we need to be takin' ya to?"

Harley giggled to herself momentarily, forgetting she was no longer wearing her costume. Being so eager to get home, she hadn't thought of providing an in-depth explanation. If she could have, she would have abided by her first instinct and simply dove into the back door of one of their cars and cried, "Go! Go! Go!" without another word, but cop cars were notoriously difficult to get in and out of without the consent of those driving them.

"Gotham," she answered, after she was done laughing at herself. "We're both just ready to get the hell out of here."

The sheriff and his deputy's eyes went wide at the possibility that the rumors had actually been true. As they were trying to decide what their next course of action should be, another figure suddenly yelled out at them from the wood line.

"Are we all simpatico?" the Joker shouted at Harley.

"I think so," she replied, but at that moment, the sheriff quickly raised his shotgun and fired at the white figure walking toward them. Harley's jaw dropped.

The Joker froze, the bullet just having missed him. "What the hell was that?"

The sheriff fired and missed again, cursing himself for not spending more time target practicing. There had just been so little need for it and, as he had gotten older, he found less appeal for the hunting trips of his youth, preferring to laze about the house.

"That's not how we play!" the Joker barked. He hadn't thought a new playing field meant he had to explain all the rules. "Harley, talk to these idiots!"

"What do you think you're doing?" Harley hissed. "Do you want to lose your job? Go to prison?"

"He's armed 'n coming right for us," the sheriff responded simply, reloading his gun.

"He's not armed at all! And he's not moving!" she retorted.

"Oh really?" the sheriff challenged and turned to his deputy. "What do ya see?"

"Looks armed and dangerous to me," he smiled, readying his gun. "We'll show you yanks how we deal with non-desirables down here."

The Joker, having seen that this wasn't working out as planned, was quickly retreating back into the safety of the forest.

Harley sneered venomously, grabbing the deputy's gun and hitting him in the head with the butt of it. She was angry. Angry that she wasn't going home after all. Angry that anyone would think they can manipulate the system in the manner they saw fit. Harley made quick work of both men with the deputy's gun before catching up to the Joker.

"I've never killed anyone in Alabama before!" she sung to him victoriously, momentarily forgetting about the lost ride home. A broad, prideful smile was plastered across her face, dotted with small specks of red, which tended to happen when you decided to shoot someone at close range with a high caliber weapon. Typically, he found her most attractive this way, all disheveled after a kill, particularly when she didn't show an ounce of guilt or remorse. But what she'd said had disquieted him.

"I still haven't!" the Joker returned with a jealous pout. "But we'll soon fix that," he promised, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Harley's smile turned rather devious. "I'll still have done it _first_ though."

Joker's eyes went wide with surprise at such cheekiness. "Oh, really," he began. "Is this some new game we're playing? Are we just going to travel around the country, state to state and see who gets to rub somebody out first? ….Because that actually sounds like a lot of fun!" he admitted, admiringly. "Honestly though, you shouldn't have started playing without letting me know. That's cheating."

Harley giggled under his approving gaze.

* * *

The duo glumly set off in a direction without much purpose, seeing as they'd found themselves thwarted at every turn. It didn't help Joker's mood that this entire endeavor had absolutely ruined one of his favorite suits. Not to mention his shoes.

"I liked these shoes," he commented, deciding to vocalize his thoughts.

"I know," Harley replied, in a consoling tone. "We'll get you a new pair. You'll enjoy that."

He simply sighed heavily in response and abruptly sat down with a plop on the ground.

"Puddin'?" she prodded gently, stopping behind him.

"I have a theory, Harley," he divulged. "Would you like to hear it?"

Of course she did and scurried to face her darling, sitting crisscross in front of him. She gazed at his face as intently as she could, feeling she was about to hear something insightful.

"We're dead," he stated matter-of-factly. "That device you just _had_ to mess with didn't teleport us to Alabama. It blew us up! We're dead and this is hell. I suppose I had it coming," he admitted with a cheeky grin. "You killed us. Are you happy with yourself?"

Harley was put off by this idea, but found little evidence to refute it. She scrunched up her face in thought and suddenly relaxed, her eyes brightening. "This can't be hell," she stated assuredly.

"How's that?" he inquired.

"Because we're together!" she answered enthusiastically.

He stared at her in disbelief for half a moment, before shaking his head with a dark chuckle. "It's cute how you think that," he countered cynically.

"Well, then what can we do?" Harley asked dejectedly.

"I've been dead before," he answered, rising to his feet with renewed vigor. "And the devil's got nothing on me," he finished darkly, setting off again with purpose, Harley hot on his heels.

* * *

They had just stumbled upon a cultivated field as the sun was hitting the horizon, filling the sky with a rose color.

"Look Puddin'! It's cotton! Real actual alive cotton growing out of the ground!" she exclaimed, touching one. "It's prickly! Isn't that weird?"

"Bizarre," he commented, unenthusiastically. "Quick, get Ripley's on the phone."

She ignored his sarcasm and broke one of the plants stalks to better carry her new discovery. She considered the cotton budding at the top after reaching Joker's side, her face contorted in thought.

"You look like you're onto something, Harl," he commented dryly. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"Why do you suppose Red wears leaves?" she asked aloud, as he seemed to be in a talking mood.

"Because she's insane. Honestly, Harley, aren't you supposed to an expert?" he tsked.

"I'm serious!" she whined. "Look here, this cotton is a plant, right? So what's the difference between wrapping vines around herself and an outfit that's one hundred percent cotton?"

He mulled this thought over for a moment before replying in a teasing tone, "Your logic is sound and you know how much I hate that."

She giggled in response until she distinctly heard her name issuing from one of the rows of corn that was growing adjacent to the field of cotton. They both stopped abruptly.

"I think I might be losing it," Harley admitted, wondering where the voice could be coming from. "Maybe it's heat stroke."

"No, I heard it too," Joker verified, cocking his head to the side as he regarded the field,a muffled voice calling 'Harlequin' rose up from the field stretch ed before them. "I told you no good could come out of hanging out with Pammy," he chastised. "Now plants are talking to you too. Well, don't be rude. Answer them."

Harley felt very silly and dropped her head to the side, while hiding the injured plant in her hand behind her back, before answering with a meek, "H-hello?"

"Hello?" the voice echoed back, closer now.

"What the hell?" Joker whispered, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer to the plants, when a figure jumped out of one of the rows, causing Harley to yelp in fright.

Harley laughed at herself to find a young African American boy in a straw hat and a red football jersey, emblazoned with the number twenty-two, looking up at her. He regarded the man accompanying her with a strange look, but didn't seem to be uncomfortable otherwise.

"How y'all doin?" he asked good-naturedly.

Joker opened his mouth to answer, but Harley silently mouthed 'Don't' to whatever he was about to say. He gave her a brief look of disdain, but ultimately decided to roll with it…for the moment.

She bent down to the boy's level and asked in a genuinely affectionate tone, "You are a cutie-pie, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am!" he agreed, smiling broadly. He seemed about seven years old and clearly heard this a lot, but wasn't at all tired of it yet.

"I swear I heard my name coming from your field," she began. "Harley Quinn."

"That's your name?" the boy asked in doubt.

"Sure is," she nodded.

"Well, we was talkin' 'bout them Harlequin beetles." He lifted a hand to show a small beetle with an iridescent shell perched on his finger. "We've got a mighty bad infestation this year."

"Oooh, pretty," Harley commented, regarding the colorful bug.

"Yeah," the boy admitted, and then dropped his voice to a whisper. "But they smell pow'rful bad."

The Joker erupted in laughter at that and Harley rolled her eyes. The boy cringed slightly at the sudden sound and it was loud enough to stir the rest of his family from the cornfield. More bodies began to emerge from nearby rows.

"Who you talkin' to son?" the largest male asked the child, grasping him by the shoulder and pulling him back defensively, careful not to take his eyes off the peculiar stranger in front of him.

"Well, this is Harley Quinn," the boy pointed at the woman and grinned. "And that…I don't know who that is," he finished, nervously, his smile having disappeared.

There were now half a dozen other family members staring at them, three of which were nearly grown teenagers. Down the dirt road towards a barn, Harley could see what she assumed were some hired hands that had stopped unloading a truck and were attempting to determine what the sudden congregation in the cotton was about. A quick glance at the Joker confirmed that he had also become aware that they were now outnumbered, with his posture slightly stiffening and his fingers twitching in preparation for the possibility of violence.

Eager to make a smooth exit, Harley chirped, "Well, it doesn't matter, 'cause we've gotta be going." In what was perhaps a less than casual way, she spun on her heel and attempted to pull the Joker by the hand, but it was too late. The way the corner of his lips moved up into a smile was a warning that Harley knew intimately. And his green gaze was locked with the wide eyes of the farmer, who had evidently just realized who was standing in front of him among the cotton.

"Yes, we've just _got_ to be going," Joker agreed amiably, before rapidly raising the shotgun he had slung across his back and opening fire on the man. The family gasped and dropped to their knees around him as the Joker and Harley fled into the cornfield, towards the opposite side of the farm.

"What'd you have to go do that for?" Harley exclaimed in anger, flinging her arms out to prevent the many leaves from smacking her in the face.

"Now I've killed someone in Alabama," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I-," Harley began irritably before being interrupted.

"I know you did it first!" he yelled, still trudging ahead through the jungle of green stalks..

"That's not what I was going to say!" she insisted. "They just seemed like a nice little family is all."

The Joker abruptly halted and spun around. He squinted at Harley, closely studying her face. "Sometimes I just don't get you," he admitted. "You were fine killing those cops earlier today."

"They were assholes," Harley explained.

"And since when have I cared?" he retorted. "For that matter…since when have you? Don't tell me you didn't think my little prank was funny."

Harley looked suddenly defensive, setting her mouth in a straight line that didn't feel at all natural.

"I hate these little retraining sessions I have to give you, Harley. I really do," he sighed, grabbing her by the wrist as he turned around and started pulling her back the way they'd came.

"What are we doing?" she asked apprehensively **,** noting that they were now back to an edge of the cornfield and dangerously visible to the distraught farm folk.

"Not we," he corrected. "You. You are going to shoot the 'cutie-pie'."

"No, Puddin'!" she begged. "Please don't make me!"

"Oh, yes," he continued, undaunted with a gleam in his eye. "Yes, yes, yes. I think it's quite necessary."

On second thought, he rather enjoyed retraining her from time to time, he realized as he watched her squirm against his grip, her eyes full of ethical turmoil. Then the look in them changed dramatically as they grew with ecstatic surprise.

"Look!" she squealed happily, pointing in the distance.

"Oh no, Pumpkin," He said, wagging a finger at her. "Daddy's not falling for that one."

"I'm serious!" she added, desperately. "It's a plane!"

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn't lying and quickly whipped around to look in the direction she was pointing.

"A plane," he breathed, as though it were the most wonderful sight in the world.

It was a small crop duster parked next to a barn, beyond the field they were now beside. They both raced towards the plane as though their lives depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladrial's End Notes: Please do not think my little sheriff's rant was me pushing any sort of political agenda. I happen to be a moderate conservative, but that's neither here nor there. It's simply my way of indicating the common thought processes of those native to the south, not all of which I disagree with. Unfortunately many of them have a tendency to take a thoughtful idea and express it in a thoughtless way. We're tacky in our opinionatedness down here y'all. It's part of our charm. Last but not least, the harlequin beetle is a real thing and apparently attacks cotton plants. Who knew?


	5. Chapter 5

Joker laughed deliriously as they tore across the large open field toward the plane, far enough away from the center of the farm that was probably going to be swarming with authorities soon. After they reached it, he began a thorough inspection and Harley's relieved expression changed to one of growing concern. Suddenly there were a million reasons she could think of that this plane had no chance in helping them get home, chief of which was who was going to fly it.

None of these thoughts seemed of concern to Joker though as he directed Harley to see if there were any tanks of gas in the barn. Harley kept her concerns quiet for the time being and did as he asked, returning with two containers of gasoline. The Joker placed them both in the floor of the back seat.

"Up you go," he instructed happily, pointing to the cracked leather seat.

"Uh…," she hesitated, not sure how to continue.

"What now?" he sighed. "We need to get this show on the road. In case you've forgotten, I just _killed_ someone."

Harley shifted her feet nervously, before realizing the best way to broach her reservations. "Can we play doctor/patient?" she pleaded.

"What? _Now_?" he asked in disbelief. He did enjoy that game from time to time though and couldn't help but be curious as to why she'd want to play now of all times. He shrugged and lay down in the grass as though it were a sofa. "This is going to have to be a quick game though," he warned.

"I know," she chimed before putting on her professional face and clearing her throat. "Now, Mr. Joker-"

He stifled a laugh. "You haven't called me that in years," he giggled.

She gave him an annoyed look. "You aren't playing right."

"Right, right," he agreed and tried to put on a more solemn expression, before indicating she should proceed.

"You're a man that has accomplished many things," she began.

"This is true," he nodded.

"That is a feat more rare than most people think. Everyone sets goals for themselves but few actually succeed in reaching them. Most have their goals either unmet or changed due to various circumstances in their lives," she explained. "But not you."

"I'm nothing if not determined, doc," he congratulated himself.

She struggled to keep a straight face at the old moniker as he had done earlier, managing to do so before she continued. "But have you ever considered the ramifications associated with success? One could easily become cocky."

"You make it sound like confidence is a bad thing," he retorted. "It's one of my best features."

"Ah, but what about over confidence?" she rebutted. "What if it gets to the extreme that one begins to believe they can do things they really are incapable of doing?"

He considered this for a moment as he tried to figure out what he'd want to do that he'd be incapable of and didn't come up with anything. "Like what?"

"Like fly a plane," she answered meekly, hugging her legs to her chest, having instantly reverted to her former self upon uttering the words.

Joker propped himself up on his elbows, regarding her. "Is that what this is all about?"

She nodded furiously.

"Do you want to go home or not?" he asked.

She nodded again.

"Then get in the damn plane," he finished.

She nervously did as he asked and he quickly took the pilot's seat in front of her. Not having the keys, he took a panel off the dash and set to hot-wiring the engine. When it began to hum, he smiled triumphantly and turned to face Harley, expecting the same expression. Unfortunately, the vibration of the vehicle only seemed to make her all the more anxious as she realized that actual flight was really going to happen.

He gave her a disgruntled look, but she didn't see it. Her eyes were fixated on the ground as though she knew this was her last opportunity to seek its safety and was considering her options. Several ideas on how to handle the situation flashed through his mind before he settled on the one that was going to cause him the least amount of grief in the long run.

"Harley," he called out over the loud hum of the engine.

"What?" she answered, still staring at the ground.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Slowly, she looked away from the safe spot she had chosen. He pointed at his eyes and she leaned into them intently.

"I've done this before," he assured her.

"Really?" she sang out and enthusiastically embraced him around the neck in relief.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home," she heard him breathe into her ear. She released him and found her anxiousness had turned to excitement as they took off.

The flight had been mostly without incident, despite the fact that the small craft wasn't intended for such long distances. The biggest issues were stopping to fill up with gas, during which time he'd have to find a clearing large enough to land. There was a point when they were tapped out and had to travel some distance on foot to find a place to replenish their tanks.

These obstacles made the trip take longer than it should have, but finally they found themselves nearing Gotham. Originally, they were just desperate to reach the city and didn't really care what happened to them afterward. However, as they neared their destination, the option of remaining free became chief in Joker's mind.

He quickly decided to avoid the airport altogether. The problem then became where exactly could he land. It was much easier in rural areas to find an out of the way, cleared spot large enough for landing an aircraft. Urban areas, unfortunately, weren't made for that sort of thing.

Fate was deciding to smile on him that day as he spied a large green patch below, not too far outside the city, which he felt would do the job. He could sense Harley's growing anticipation behind him as he began his descent.

Harley cheered wildly after they finally landed and dove to the ground. She lay flat against it, literally hugging the earth beneath her. "I missed you Gotham!" she declared joyously.

"I'm sure she missed us too," he replied to her approvingly, before taking in his immediate surroundings. "Who the hell would need a yard this big?"

Harley looked up and found that she was, indeed, laying in a very large yard surrounding a mansion in front of her. The front door open and a balding man in a suit stepped out, no doubt alerted by the sound of the plane's landing.

"Hey, Jeeves!" Joker called out over the long distance. "Call us a cab! We've had a long day!"

"I don't think he's going to do it," Harley said, after the man darted back inside.

"Probably not," Joker sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I don't mind walking," Harley returned. "Now that I'm home, I don't mind anything."

After a brief stroll down the front driveway, they were met with a pair of large gates that enclosed the lavish home. Despite being ready to scale the stone wall or shoot the keypad, the gates opened for them automatically and they began their hike home.

Behind them, the large gates, each encrusted with a W, swung shut with only a brief creaking sound.

* * *

Batman had rushed home, with Robin right behind him, after the urgent call he'd received while attempting to track down the head of a smuggling operation. What he had been told was nonsensical, but he knew better than to question Alfred of all people. They spared a brief few moments after returning to change into plainclothes, though Tim was up the stairs barefoot, in just a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, before Bruce had even removed all of his armor.

"There, Master Bruce, just like I told you," Alfred pointed, after leading them to the front lawn. The three of them walked together towards the plane, only a few feet from the front drive.

"You're sure it was them?" he asked after reaching the aircraft, finding the situation surreal.

"I hadn't considered that it could have been another clown accompanied by a blonde that decided to land a plane in our front yard," Alfred answered dryly.

"Yeah, but…they didn't try anything?" Tim asked, while rapidly typing the tail number into his smart phone, the glow from the screen lighting up his face in the darkness.

"They seemed quite eager to leave the premises," Alfred verified.

Bruce stood silently. It was one of the few times he felt absolutely stumped.

"HA!" Tim sang out victoriously. "I told you!" He turned his phone toward his partner so that he could read where the plane was registered. "Alabama!"

"None of this makes any sense," Bruce replied matter-of-factly. He hated dealing with the clown, because one could so rarely make sense out of anything. Other criminals were easy: you collected the evidence and put it together until it made a clear picture. Now he was going to spend the next few weeks trying to determine what, if anything, all this meant.

"Perhaps some hot tea, sir," Alfred offered, sensing his frustration.

"Yes," he agreed. "And call someone to get this out of my yard."

* * *

It was the wee hours of the morning and they were feeling rather energized, despite the exhaustion of their recent ordeal. Not only had they made it home, but they had made it home and were still free to enjoy themselves. This feeling of euphoria only intensified as they found themselves on familiar streets.

"Now that you're home, what are you going to do first, Puddin'?" Harley asked excitedly, taking a moment to lovingly pat a lamppost.

"I'm going to Panda King and ordering my usual," he answered, immediately thinking of his favorite Chinese spot.

"I'm going to shower!" Harley chimed in. "Indoor plumbing!"

"I'm going to get new shoes!" he replied, indicating his ruined ones.

"I'm going to crank the A/C all the way up and no one can tell me I can't!" she continued.

"I'm going to gut that guy over there!" he added excitedly, pointing to a homeless man sitting in an alley. He wasn't exactly discreet in his proclamation though, and the future victim took off quickly. "Well…now I'm not because I'm just too damn tired to chase him down."

Harley laughed at that and he quickly joined her as they neared their current hideout. As they entered, their giddiness subsided and they knew what would really be the first thing they'd do. Without words, they both headed toward their bed and collapsed on it. It was one of the rare times Joker was quite sure his insomnia would not be getting the best of him.

"Do you know what we need now?" Harley murmured as they both drifted off.

"What?" he mumbled back.

"A vacation."


End file.
